


Fire Flies

by Liliania



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hermione works too much, Lesbian Pansy Parkinson, M/M, Pansy writes a book, Slow Burn, They're just tired, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-02-09 04:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18631195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liliania/pseuds/Liliania
Summary: Pansy always knew the heroes are only perfect in other peoples' eyes, that's why she never had any and never tried to become one, so why is she still surprised when she finds out how miserable their life can be?





	1. Chapter 1

**I Paperchase**

“Mind if I sit here?”  
Hermione looked suspiciously at Pansy. She tried to smile, but it looked studied and not a bit honest. Still, she appreciated a try.  
“Of course not,” she answered, biting her tongue before she asked why Pansy didn’t sit at any of the other vacant tables. She promised Harry she would be polite, even if it was a bit hard after a day at work. “What are you doing here?”  
“Working on an article.” She sat in front of Hermione with her plate of salad. “Are you okay? You look pale.”  
Hermione burned her tongue with a tea she took a sip of to stop herself from a rude comment.

She should have predicted it. It seemed odd, she must admit, that suddenly Pansy was at the building where she had an office definitely more often than she had a sensible reason for, or that Harry and Draco happened to throw a party for the second time in three months and invite both of them. The fact that Pansy attempted to approach Hermione during these occasions and even be unusually polite seemed even more odd, considering they’ve barely seen each other since the end of the war.  
She was usually good at guessing peoples’ intentions. She was fairly sure Pansy wanted to change, and she appreciated the try. She knew it must be difficult to redeem yourself, change peoples’ opinion of you, and she wasn’t to try and make it more difficult for Pansy.  
A letter on her desk seemed almost offensive to her. It smelled like cigarettes, contrasting with an expensive looking paper it was written on and Pansy’s unnecessarily fancy, archaic and hard to decipher writing. Hermione leant to look at it again, massaging her temple.

 _Hermione,_  
 _Excuse me for being blunt, but I want to keep this short and elaborate tomorrow if you agree to meet with me._  
(Of course, Hermione would meet with her. She would have probably died of curiosity, if she did not find out what Pansy wants to elaborate on.)  
_I have an interesting proposition for you, I would describe it - business and culture related. It may not seem interesting, put that way, but I sincerely hope you would give me a chance. Please meet me at Rosalie’s Birds cafe tomorrow at five, if you decide on listening to my offer._  
 _Pansy_

**II Hostile territory**

The cafe was dim, candles being the only source of light, and smelled like incense and cinnamon. The wooden floor creaked under Hermione’s feet as she walked slowly, searching for Pansy. She saw her sitting in the corner on a leather sofa, with a cup in her hand resting on her crossed legs. She raised her head as Hermione approached her and nodded.  
“Is that for me?” Hermione asked, pointing at the other cup of coffee on the table. Pansy nodded. “Thanks. Really nice spot, by the way.”  
“I mostly chose it so I wouldn’t feel like too much of a fool if you didn’t come,” admitted Pansy. “As you can see, usual guests here are sort of freaky, if you don’t mind the expression.”  
Hermione snorted and glanced at the room. Pansy was right; people at other tables seemed to caught up in their own world to pay attention to their surroundings.  
“So if you did, I figured I would just give the other coffee to Rosalie and listen to her speak about poetry for some time.”  
“Oh, so you know the owner?”  
“Yes, she’s the witch behind the bar. She is actually really lovely, I met her while working in Poland. Never would have guessed I would be able to genuinely like someone like her.” Pansy shook her head and put a cup on a table. She had long nails painted dark, flaring with lights reminding Hermione of stars. “But I know, Hermione,” she continued, and addressing Hermione by her actual name seemed so strange for her she wanted to repeat it in every sentence, “you’re not here for a chat. I know you were never interested in this kind of thing, but I figured I could at least try, right?”  
“I’m listening,” Hermione said, smiling warmly.  
Pansy thought briefly, that Hermione should not be this polite to her. She would have rather Hermione be a little rude, it only seemed fair after years of being horrible. Draco told her about it; how bad he felt for all those years of treating Harry badly and how he wanted to confront him about it, but every time it did it went wrong, with Harry either comforting Draco when he shouldn’t or having a fit. Pansy definitely didn’t feel like having either of those anytime in the future.  
At least, she figured, she did not live in a house, where either Hermione or one of her close friends nearly lost a life.  
“I wanted to write your biography. You’re one of the most significant witches in today’s politics, but also, as you can probably see, one of the only witches, period. And as much as I hate giving compliments, you’re really, unusually smart and powerful, especially for someone so young.” Hermione wrinkled her nose slightly. Pansy thought through how to approach her, yet now she lost her confidence. She felt stupid to even come up with this idea. “What I mean, people know hardly anything about you, except that you helped Harry save the world, and I think you shouldn’t be left in peoples’ memory as just his help.”  
“I’m not going to take more credit than I deserve,” Hermione said, frowning. “I didn’t sacrifice and didn't suffer nearly as much as Harry.”  
“That’s not what I had in mind, you know that,” Pansy said, hating Gryffindor's righteousness. “I know you don’t do interviews, but I hoped maybe you would consider this.”  
“But why did you think I would agree to you, if I refused to exactly everybody until this point?”  
Pansy looked at her; Hermione looked tired. She had dark circles under her eyes and she was unhealthily pale. Her red jumper was slightly too big and her collarbone stuck out of it.  
“Because you know they would either make you a war hero and put you in bronze, or try to find the smallest detail to make a scandal,” she answered casually.  
“A moment ago it seemed you would do just that,” she sighed and shook her head. “So how do I know you won’t do that?”  
“Draco would be very mad,” she answered with a smirk, ignoring her first remark. Hermione snorted. “And you can be sure I will not glorify you.”  
Hermione leaned on the sofa and finished her coffee. “I can’t promise you anything.”  
But Pansy knew from the look on her face, she would at least think about it.

**III A sheep**

Pansy looked on a silver otter, which just arrived next to the bowl of her yogurt. It jumped around playfully, announcing with Hermione’s voice that Pansy is expected to please come to Rosalie’s cafe at five, then slowly changed into a sparkling mist in the air.  
She smiled and continued to read a newspaper, but concentrating on an article about her distant uncle’s bookshop and its financial problems suddenly became extremely difficult. She put it aside, noting in her head to lie to her mum she really had read it, and stared at the window, trying to come up with a plan to approach Hermione.  
She had a plan for this book, although it only existed in her head. She didn’t really expect Hermione to agree, thus it was more of a vague idea. Pansy would’ve had to improvise and see where the story gets them, but she didn’t worry about that at all. It had worked for her so far.

This time it was Hermione who waited for Pansy in the same place. She had bought a coffee for her - Pansy felt badly immediately. She should have been there earlier and she shouldn’t have let Hermione buy anything for her. Not only was she the one doing Pansy favour, but also Hermione was struggling financially. Even if Pansy didn’t know, she only needed a glance at her clothes, the same worn-out jumper as the day before and faded black chino.  
She also knew better than to say anything about it. Draco used to get so mad at her when she didn’t want to let him pay for her food, even though he was on the verge of bankruptcy and she inherited enough money to buy the whole restaurant. Hermione probably wouldn’t go as far as he did, but she didn’t want to try her.  
“I was a bit early,” Hermione said and moved on a sofa to make a place for Pansy. “I didn’t know how long it would take me to get here, so I left work a bit too early.”  
“You don’t have to do that, I would wait.”  
“I don’t like being late.” Pansy figured. “So, how do you see it?”  
“I thought we could start with your childhood and go through your life, but I guess we should concentrate on your work after the war.” Pansy looked down, losing her courage, but she tried not to let Hermione know. She knew it would be hard to talk about the time of the war when she herself didn’t do a single thing to help. “Because I figured it’s important for you.”  
Hermione looked pleased; Pansy knew that look, getting ready to talk about the work that inspires you. Hermione loved the idea.  
Pansy pressed a button on a recorder sitting next to her. Hermione looked at it surprised; she didn’t expect Pansy to use muggle devices. She cleared her throat and hesitated for a moment before she started talking about her childhood. How she was sick all her childhood, at home all the time with her books and grandma and her grandma’s lovely stories; she liked the real ones especially. She told Pansy about her favorite story, how her grandma met her granddad in a diner where she had worked and how he would come there every day, both of them too shy to talk to each other. One day he didn’t come at his usual hour and she waited for him, worried to her death, and an hour before closing the place he arrived, all soaked from the pouring rain, and her grandma jumped on her feet, exclaiming too loudly “oh my dear, where have you been, I’ve been worrying sick!” before realizing what she had just done. That was their first interaction besides ordering coffee and a pie, but it worked fine.  
Hermione was looking absently at the wall in front of her; she doubted Pansy was interested in her grandma’s stories and was only grateful that she didn’t interrupt her, but to her surprise when she looked at Pansy’s face, she saw her smiling under her lowered head.  
She told her about the kids at her school. First about her friend, a Japanese boy who liked books just as much as her, and how sad she was to leave him, knowing well he didn’t have friends beside her. They didn’t keep in touch, but it was probably only for the better for him - she kept that part for herself, though. (Hermione tugged at her hair absently; they were short now, a bit messy, but Pansy thought she looked pretty, child-like with her bare face and rust-colored freckles). She told Pansy about kids at school calling her a squirrel and laughed, the bitter tone in her voice.  
“How was leaving your parents for Hogwarts?”  
“Oh, you know,” she started, her eyes drifting upwards, looking at the ceiling as if she was looking for a way to explain it in the fluorescent fireflies drawn there. “Difficult, of course, but I think I was quite mature for my age... Too mature, maybe, and thrilled to find people like me. And I loved my parents, still do, but I was only eleven and they already haven’t had the slightest idea how to talk with me. Maybe it was only for the best I left them, it was so much easier for them to like me when we didn’t see each other that often.”  
Pansy nodded. She didn’t want to pry; it wasn’t that important, maybe even better to omit this.  
“I missed my grandma a lot.”

**IV A fool**

Pansy reached to grab her toe, one bare foot on the cold floor. She heard the door creak and straightened to look in the mirror, resting her hands on the railing and putting the leg down. She didn’t turn around when she saw her mum come in and point her wand at the piano, silencing the music. She held back the urge to sigh.  
“I’ve only just started.”  
“We have guests.” Her mum folded her hands. “They would appreciate it if you joined us, Pansy. Time to leave your cave for some time and visit your parents, I would love to see you more often, considering we live under the same roof.”  
Pansy paved the last sentence over. “Do I know them at least?” She saw her mum furrow her brows, still standing in the door. “I’ll come.”  
Her mother’s heels clattered on the marble floor; Pansy waited until she couldn’t hear the sound any longer before dropping her suddenly really heavy head in her hands.

**V The mightiest hero**

“Eat this.”  
“And what’s that?”  
Ron shifted the package in neon pink, suspiciously glowing paper closer to her. She pulled at the white ribbon to reveal a few cookies in the shape of fairies. “Luna sent it to me,” he laughed after seeing her uncertain look. “Don’t worry, I already ate some, they’re good. She says they bring you luck, but I’m not so sure if she is serious or if it’s a metaphor.”  
“Questionable,” she said, taking the cookie in her hand; it smelled like gingerbread. “But I wouldn’t mind some luck.”  
“What are you doing?” She closed the thick folder laying on the desk in front of her.  
“Nothing important,” she said. Ron didn’t look convinced. He raised one eyebrow and looked at her with worry and she knew well, she shouldn’t have been sitting there at eleven at night if it was nothing important. She doubted it would help if she told him it really is, she just didn’t want to come home yet. “Studying, really.”  
“Aren’t you done with studying already?” Ron opened the file and flicked through this. “You’ve been working on those werewolf rights for six years already, I think it doesn’t matter if you come home early and finish it a day later.”  
Hermione gave him a tired smile. “And for six years they haven’t wanted to hear a word from me about it.” She propped her head with a shoulder. “You would think actual facts would be quite convincing.”  
Ron ruffled her hair, hand sinking in her soft, short curls, and sighed. “Come on, just go home. I can give you some soup.”  
Her stomach rumbled; the muffin she had eaten for lunch seemed like a distant memory now, as she realized she had forgotten to eat once again, stars appearing before her eyes as she got up from her chair abruptly. She shot Ron a grateful look when he held her elbow firmly and apparated both of them to his flat.  
It smelled like curry and oil and obscure restaurant. She fell asleep on his old couch before Ron even started heating the food and ate the soup for breakfast.


	2. Chapter 2

****I As a friend** **

****

“So what do you think?” Pansy asked. She was rolling her empty cup on the table, ignoring the annoyed looks Draco was giving her.

“I don’t know, Pansy.” He leaned on the worktop. “I thought you were supposed to know how to write it.”

Pansy folded her arms. “Quit it. I was hoping for some help, figured you would be quite good at it, judging by the fact that you don’t seem to do much except for reading.”

“Well yes, but have you ever seen me write? And anyway, they were mostly for work.” He shrugged as Pansy looked at him with a frown. She bit her tongue before asking why would the work in a pharmacy require that amount for reading. “I would suggest you just listen to her and collect the information, then focus on the form.”

“What should I even include? I mean, you listened to it.” She was not sure if she should have let him listen. She figured it wouldn’t be too bad; it was only what Hermione told her, which meant she let her share it in her book. Still, she hoped Draco hadn’t happened to listen to the tape with Harry sitting next to him. “Should I write that her peers didn’t like her? What am I supposed to write about that young lad she was friends with? Or about her grandma’s stories? I mean, it’s not even __about__ her.”

“Her grandmother’s love story was charming.” He poured some tea in her cup. “But you’re right, it might be hard to say much about her childhood, she didn’t tell you too much. I think I have a solution, though,” he said, stirring his tea. “You could, for example, ask her something, instead of keeping off interrupting her for the whole thing. That’s how interviewing should work.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “I know that, you twat.”

“Honestly, Pansy, what the fuck?” Draco leaned towards her, propping his elbows on the wooden table. Pansy bit her lip and slouched under his sight. “You had so much opportunity to get more out of her and you took none of that. All those times you are the first one to come forward with some ridiculous question and you suddenly, what?”

“She’s intimidating.”

Draco snorted and folded his arms. They must have looked funny, Pansy thought; sitting on the opposite sides of the table, arms folded and eyes piercing through each other, teacups with dancing unicorns placed in front of them.

“Intimidating? Pansy, she looks as if she was seventeen, about to skip her classes for the first time.”

Pansy shifted in her seat. She had to admit, maybe it seemed ridiculous, considering Hermione was nothing but polite to her, and maybe Draco was right and she had no right to look intimidating with her huge auburn eyes and freckles and rosy cheeks. She looked innocent and pure, and maybe that’s why Pansy was scared of her; she could imagine her doe-like eyes water after remembering something terrific, after asking the bad question. Pansy decided she was rather scared of hurting her, as odd as it may sound, considering their previous relations, but it was the same way as she would be scared of scaring a child or kicking a kitten. She wasn’t eager to explain it, though, especially not to Draco.

“She reminds me of a sheep with those fluffy curls. Don’t tell her, though.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “How are you intending to work with her if you’re scared of the poor girl?”

“Well, it seems to work just fine for you and Harry.”

“What?”

“What, Draco?” Pansy leaned back in her chair. “Don’t tell me he’s not scared of your crazy sometimes, because he sure does look like he is.”

Draco stared at her for what seemed like a very long time, his bright grey eyes ice cold on her. Pansy didn’t even blink. He knew well she doesn’t apologize, even if she regretted the words right after they left her mouth.

“He’s not scared of me, he’s scared for me.” He stood back and turned to face the counter, busying his hands with wiping the almost perfectly clean counter. “And he luckily has less and less opportunities to do so, but if he must, he doesn’t really mind. You shouldn’t mind someone’s crazy if you decide to spend time with them.” Draco turned around and leaned back on the counter. Pansy wondered how much it cost him to act relaxed right now. “And whatever you think, I told you a lot of times my relationship is none of your business.”

“Thanks for the coaching.”

“You’re only trying to make me mad at you, so you can change the topic.”

“Bloody hell, Draco, it really pisses me off that you always have to act like you’re so much more mature than me.” She shook her head. “And if I don’t want to talk I can just live, which is exactly what I’m doing right now.”

Pansy got up from the chair, grabbing her leather bag with her.

“I know you’re sorry you said so.”

“I really am not.”

“I’m more mature, though.”

“Oh, I know, all you fuckers are more mature than me.” She snorted and crossed her arms tightly on her chest, almost as if she was embracing herself.

“You can still pop up every time you want, darling,” he said, hiding a soft smile playing on his lips, so as not to make her even madder than she already was.

She turned around and left the room, bumping into Harry on the doorstep. He almost dropped the stack of parchments he was holding in his hands.

“Hello, Harry.”

“Hi, Pansy,” he said absently, adjusting the glasses that shifted askew on his nose with his free hand. “You’re leaving already?”

“Oh, yes, very urgent business,” she said eagerly, standing behind their flat’s door already. “Beware of Draco, he’s moody today.”

“Oh is he,” Harry mumbled, more to himself than to Pansy.

The solid door closed with a thud. Pansy smoothed her black skirt and examined her look in the window. The sound of her heels on the floor echoed in the empty corridor.

 

****II As a memory** **

 

There was a quiet rumbling in the background, blending with her dream; she dreamed of blue birds, big as pterodactyls, squawking loudly. She was on the ground beneath them, trying to fall asleep on the hot earth and on the verge of yelling at the damn animal. Hermione’s head was still pounding when she opened her eyes.

“How are you?”

Hermione stood abruptly, surprised with somebody’s else presence, and reached for her wand. She turned only to see Ron, standing next to the stove with a pan in his hand, dressed in silly Christmas pajamas, and glaring at her with a slight worry. She lowered the wand immediately.

“Forgot I’m at yours,” she mumbled, sticking the wand behind the waist of her pants. “I’m going to take a shower.”

She felt filthy with the clothes she had on the previous day. She looked briefly at her reflection in the window and saw she had lines on her cheek from the pillow and her hair were even more messy than usual. Hermione borrowed one of Ron’s less ridiculous jumpers, just plain green one, and put her own in her bag. She didn’t want to go home, probably didn’t have time anyway.

“Do you have some painkillers?” she asked and started searching through his drawers before she got a reply. Ron stood behind her and reached for a bottle with a glowing white liquid. “Muggle painkillers?”

“These work better.”

“They can mess with your head a bit, so.”

“Only if you use them too much.” Ron raised an eyebrow as she rolled her eyes. He crossed his arms, the bottle of liquid still in his hand, sparkling suspiciously prettily. “Do you? You were supposed to go to the doctor.”

“I have an appointment scheduled. Really, Ron,” she added, seeing his unconvinced look. “You can even come with me.”

“Muggle painkillers are bad for your health too, innit? You are the responsible one, remember?” he said, already pouring medicine to her glass. “Eat some breakfast.”

She ate eggs with him and drank Ron’s potion, it tasted like candy and smelled like candyfloss. Ron told her the story about how he spilled the tea on his date’s lap and she managed to laugh, then she told him about the book writing process and assured Pansy didn’t seem like she wanted to murder her. Then he told her she can live with him if she felt worse or lonely, which is what he used to assure her of every time he had a chance, and Hermione smiled thankfully and bit her tongue before she said something mean. He then went on to clean the dishes and she kissed him on the cheek before she left for work.

She still felt the sweet taste of the potion when she left for work, it was giving her nausea.

 

****III As an old enemy** **

“Do you think she’s okay?” Harry asked. He opened a bottle of wine, a cheap one from the muggle grocery shop, and took a sip straight from the bottle. Draco sat on the table close to Harry and ruffled his hair.

“She surely is not,” he said, taking the bottle from Harry’s hands. “But she’d rather kill herself than admit it to me, so it’s terribly difficult to help.”

“But you don’t think she’s going to do it, huh?”

“What, kill herself?” Draco laughed and waved his hand. “Pansy? Of course not.”

“She told me you’re moody today when she was leaving.”

“Oh am I?” He put his feet on either side of Harry on the chair and grabbed him gently by the chin.

“That’s what I told her.” He laughed and reached to kiss Draco. “I think that’s just your personality, being a brat that is, but I’ll manage.”

He rested his hands on Draco’s thighs and smoothed the fabric of his black pants. “Hermione seems unwell, too, so maybe they’ll just help each other.”

“I’m worried they’ll just get bored with politeness in two weeks and kill each other in a passionate fight in the middle of a muggle cafe,” Draco muttered into Harry’s neck, making him shiver. “But they won’t do it before tomorrow, so we may as well talk about that in the morning and now just get drunk with that disgusting wine, what do you think?”

“I also bought even more disgusting strawberry flavoured one,” he said, chuckling, as he grabbed Draco’s waist.

 

****IV I think I left my conscience on your front doorstep** **

****

“Hello!”

Hermione turned startled, when someone laid a hand on her arm, reaching for the wand hid behind the waist of her jeans. She moved the hand to her chest, seeing it’s Pansy.

“Shit you scared me!” she hissed, and immediately tried to correct herself with an awkward smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you this?” Pansy furrowed. “I thought you live in Hampstead.”

“How do you know where I live?” Hermione shook her head. She reached to comb her hair absently. “Never mind. Where are you going?”

“Bakery.”

Pansy eyed Hermione. She looked like she overslept and didn’t have much time to even brush her teeth, let alone properly wake up. Her hair was even messier than usual and she had sleepy eyes like she just got up from the bed.

“Want some coffee?”

 

Pansy put two cups of coffee and rainbow cupcakes on the table. Hermione told her she already drunk coffee earlier, but Pansy only shot a glance at her and decided she needed another one. “It’s probably a bad idea,” she said, standing next to Pansy in a short queue. “I’ve been drinking too much coffee lately, I’ll probably be a shaking mess by the end of the week.”

“You should watch your diet,” Pansy answered, smiling. “Next time we can meet at my flat, I’ll cook something healthy for you, you look like you could use some actual food.” Hermione didn’t comment on that. Pansy seemed to already forget she even mentioned inviting Hermione to her home, busy with looking through the cupcakes as if it wasn’t a big deal. It probably wasn’t for her, Hermione thought. She had not been visiting except for Harry and Ron and his family for the past two years, but probably others had a more exciting life than she did.

“These are cute,” she said when they sat at the table, pointing at the cupcakes. They had pink sprinkles on top of the cream.

“They’re the best ones, too,” said Pansy, reaching for hers. Hermione looked at Pansy’s thin hands, as she grabbed it, pastel colour of the cake contrasting with her long, red nails. Hermione thought she had a wicked smile and she didn’t match the surroundings and didn’t match Hermione, too.

She still had the sweet taste of Ron’s potion on her tongue and thus no fancying of the rainbow cupcake, however pretty it looked.

Hermione coughed, afraid of the stretching silence. Pansy looked at her and smiled.

“It’s a pretty jumper.”

“Oh?” Hermione laughed. She looked down to remind herself what she’s wearing and no, she wouldn’t call it pretty, but it was comfortable enough and smelled of Ron’s house, and anyway, she always found some quite ugly things pretty, strangely. She looked at Pansy’s dotted shirt and pearl necklace and laughed. “Are you honest or just taking the piss?”

“No, really!” Her features softened slightly when her smile widened. “I mean, it’s plain, but it suits you. You look pretty in this shade of green.”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s not mine, but thanks.”

“Oh, right.” Pansy dropped her gaze and brought the cup to her mouth, holding it with both hands.

“It’s Ron’s,” Hermione explained, even though Pansy didn’t ask. “He insisted I come and eat something and I was so exhausted I fell asleep there. Maybe I’ll tell him he won’t be the only one to feed me now, so he can stop worrying for five seconds.”

“Oh, right.” Pansy lightened a bit, quickly shifting to her usual politeness. “Yes, I’m honest, you must come, I think it may even be better than staying in the cafe. I wasn’t sure you’d like the idea.”

“This evening?” Pansy nodded. “I’ll let you know, alright? And I’m sorry, but I must go now, I’ll be late for classes, I’ll probably be late anyway.”

“What classes?”

“History of magic,” she said, grabbing her leather briefcase in a rush. It looked worn-out, at least ten years old, and Pansy noticed some badges with unknown to her acronyms sewed on. “So I guess I’ll see you,” she said, fishing her glasses out of the pockets of the bag.

Pansy left the cafe a moment later. She looked at the waitress, a pretty girl with brown curls and a charming smile, and she smiled back and got out on the street. It was a beautiful day and the leaves hadn’t started to turn red yet.

 

****V Until victory!** **

****

“Fancy some tea?” Pansy asked, taking a burgundy coat from Hermione. The other girl shook her head and stepped into the hall, cheeks blushed from the cold and somewhat distant look on her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Peachy.”

Hermione walked straight to the living room and almost stepped on Pansy’s cat, which looked almost like a fluffy, orange pillow with closed eyes. He jumped, surprised with a new person, but climbed into her lap when she sat down. Pansy looked at Hermione with amusement; she carefully stroked the cat’s fur and then placed her hand on her thigh.

“That’s Iggy,” she explained. Hermione nodded. “Seems that he likes you, eh?”

Hermione didn’t answer her. She had a troubled look on her face. “Anyway, I had some question about what we were talking before...”

“Hey, Pansy, did you know there are still some Death Eaters out there?”

“What?”

There was Hermione, looking at Pansy with hazy eyes and a blush on her freckled cheeks, disheveled hair and wrinkles on her forehead, talking about Death Eaters, and Pansy just wanted to tell her to maybe go to sleep. Iggy hopped off Hermione’s lap.

“Right? Seems like nobody knows, but soon you’ll find out.” She crossed her legs and the velvet couch, her feet in long purple socks. “And I was thinking, maybe that’s what you should write about. Because how much do you know about other countries, Pansy?”

“Honestly nothing and I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, reaching for her wand to close the door. She hoped her mother was nowhere close to hear.

“I work in the ministry, as bad as it actually goes, but they wouldn’t dare throw me out, I think,” she says, rubbing her tired eyes. “And I have friends and they tell me a lot, some things more terrifying than others, and I won’t stop hearing about those Voldemort so-called followers and their friends,” Pansy shivered at the sound of the name, “the only thing it’s not in England, so nobody would care.”

Pansy looked at her glowing with anger eyes. She wanted to comfort her, hold her arms and pat her on the back, but maybe it wasn’t a good idea. She sat in silence.

“And as long as they don’t call themselves Death Eaters, everybody’s content with them,” she snorts with contempt. “Because it’s been ten years already and nobody remembers what they preached about and nobody wants to notice the similarities. Do you know what it feels like when you wasted your whole youth and scarred yourself for your whole life, only to see the peace you fought for shatter to pieces?” Hermione looked Pansy straight in the eye, but there was no anger in them anymore, only sadness and fatigue. “Do you have some whiskey?”

Pansy promptly stood up and fetched a bottle of alcohol. Hermione took the glass with a drink in her shaking hands.

“You could tell me more, Hermione,” Pansy said softly. “About all the similarities you noticed and what it looked like when you-know-who...” Hermione laughed but nodded. “I get it, we could take care of publishing it in other countries.”

“Could we not talk about my childhood anymore? I think I like my life more now.”


End file.
